When The Morning Comes
by xlegnAkraDx
Summary: Over two plates of chicken piccata and rice, Naruto thanks Sasuke for twenty-five years of cutting him slack. Modern AU.


Something I wrote on a whim. Modern AU. They're in their mid-thirties. Naruto's in a band, Sasuke's a computer programmer. They both write music. No plot. Totally plot-less. I'm a plot-rebel. :3 Also, sorry for the whateverthenumberofmonths-absence. Life's been busy. I hope you guys understand.

I own nothing outside of the order of these words.

Characters belong to Masashi Kishimoto. Title is from Coldplay's "Lovers in Japan/Reign Of Love". Oh, and please review! Anything helps.

**When The Morning Comes**

_By xlegnAkraDx_

"I forgot how messy your room was," Sasuke said quietly, one hand on the door frame as he scanned the room. Naruto was already laid back on his old twin bed, luggage dropped carelessly on the floor. His head was turned toward the other and he grinned goofily, crinkles forming in the skin around his eyes.

It was Sasuke's favorite Naruto-smile.

"I know," the blonde finally replied. His smile faded, and Sasuke's followed before he even realized he had been wearing one. "I missed it."

Their gaze was still locked and Sasuke smiled the nostalgia-smile—the smile you used for memories that were no longer in your grasp.

Because the truth was, they were older—stressed, tired, and five years from forty. Naruto joined a band before he had even finished high school, banging drums, because Sasuke knew he didn't have the patience to sit and learn guitar chords and simply _not hit things_. He played drums because drums were loud and that's how he liked it.

Unfortunately playing drums meant playing shows which meant going on tours and being away from home for long periods of time; their friendship had only been kept alive by five-minute phone calls and post cards from every city Naruto played in. They provided some variety and humor in Sasuke's rather mundane life—sitting in front of his desktop as a computer programmer, writing program scripts in C++ and Java while an NBC crime drama plays in the other room, unwatched. But there were worse career options out there, and Sasuke knew it, so he kept his complaints to a minimum and managed his sleep with coffee and sleeping pills. He sometimes went on dates, but he mostly spent his free time writing music or catching one of Naruto's band's shows, sitting near the back with a bottle of beer and watching Naruto play his heart out.

Naruto had finally gotten back from his U.S. tour, jetlagged and fidgety but overall, pretty good. Sasuke had done the courtesy of picking him up from the airport this time, but it had already been eight o'clock by the time they got to Naruto's apartment, and Sasuke lived forty-five minutes away, so Naruto simply rolled his eyes and invited him to stay for dinner, which Sasuke would end up making anyway because he knew the blonde couldn't cook for shit.

Naruto sat up on the bed, and the movement pulled Sasuke away from his thoughts and back to reality. Naruto had his head cocked to the side and his face showed concern, as if he was urging Sasuke to tell him what was on his mind.

"I'm fine," he said instead, grinning lazily and crossing his arms, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. "Just thinking about what a terrible chef you are and what I'm going to have to make for dinner tonight."

Naruto snorted, concern slipping from his face. "I'd normally argue with you but you're absolutely right, I can't cook for my life. I've been living off of hot pockets and beer for the past two months, cut me some slack."

Sasuke laughed and looked around the room again. It was surprisingly teenage—there was a Smashing Pumpkins poster on his closet door, and his bedspread looked as if it was designed for fifteen-year-olds. There was an electronic drum set in the corner, and a desk full of random lyrics and chord progressions and rhythms, all things that he shared with his band and they shared with him. A four-part harmony that Sasuke wasn't a part of. Didn't need to be a part of.

"I've been cutting you slack for the past twenty-five years, dude," he finally said, a little absently. He gave himself a mental shake and turned back to Naruto. "Anyways, I'm gonna go make dinner with whatever food in your fridge that has survived your two-month absence."

Naruto grinned and gave him a half-hearted kick that missed by about a foot. "Fine. Go make my dinner, wife."

The blonde flinched back before Sasuke had even moved, like he knew the attack was coming, but Sasuke's fist still hit its target and Naruto flailed before falling off the bed ungracefully.

"I'm gonna piss in your orange juice for that," Sasuke said flatly, before promptly turning and exiting the room, Naruto hollering behind him.

"Thanks for the warning, asshole!"

X

An hour later, dinner was made, a Coldplay album was playing on Naruto's stereo, and there was no piss in his orange juice, as he discovered.

"Thanks for not pissing in my orange juice," he voiced. Sasuke grinned, still cutting away at his chicken breast. Naruto watched him with a mildly amused expression, Sasuke's hair shifting as he cut. He noticed the darkest strands of gray here and there, as if old age had crept in on his monotonous life, as gray did within sheets of ebony. "Hey, Sasuke?"

Sasuke stopped sawing away at his meat, looking up with a blank expression at the serious tone in his voice. "Yes, Naruto?"

"Thanks."

Sasuke nodded, and they both knew it was for more than just dinner. "Anytime, Naruto."

They both returned to their dishes, a peaceful quietness falling over them, only broken by the scrapes of forks on plates and the piano from _Lovers In Japan _coming from the stereo speakers.


End file.
